Midnight Folk
by Benel Germosen
Summary: Of strange, strange people of twilight. Those who live between the shadows and the substantials. Midnight folk one and all...


Chapter 1: Midnight Folk

He whistled under his breath, the soft scented winter breeze breathed through the alley that reeked of urine and garbage. His eyes wearily watching the shadows undulate before him, unimpressed and tired. The ground below him was still moist with the heavy New York rain that fell through the streets. This December was strangely warm for the city, which meant a lack of snow but a still biting frost that creeped into the bones of the spines that grew from the ground around him. Through the tenements and the streets, people pressed their bodies to the first signs of warmth. Especially at midnight, where the thermostat would dip into the high 40s and low 50s. Dan Ketch hadn't felt the heat of another human in a good, long while. Only his bones and clothes on his back to keep the bitter chill away. He blew into his palms and rubbed them together, eyes closing for a moment as his hot breath stilled the ice for a moment, before dipping once more in the air in route to the pockets of his jacket. He felt the heat of the engine between his legs, through the fabric of his jeans. His motorcycle hummed softly between his limbs as he rested back on the bitch seat, and smirked wearily, hazel hues still watching the endless abyss of the alleyway before him. Dan's faces held a youthful appeal, though cracked and dry in the December air. His features were striking and handsome. His jaw was squared, his nose was thin, his lips thin and his cheeks smooth. His eyes were small and narrow jade colored disks inside pools of white, watching everything with a sidelong glance. In recent times he'd grown a goatee to make him look distanced, but it only emphasized the bright smile that would only come to him on rare occasions. 6''0, he was toned, but lacked any of the features that would find in a stereotypically attractive man. His arms were lengthy, but lacked muscles. His legs were perfect for long strides, but lacked power. His chest was undefined, and his shoulders were slender. It was these features that he hid well under layers of denim, cotton and leather.

There was sharp intake of air through his nostrils, and then a release into a wisp of white vapors from between his lips. He began humming slowly to himself. He looked down at his motorcycle, then withdrew his hand and laid it a top the gas tank. The winter wind howled, tossing the lighter detritus that littered the area. He felt the warmth of the engine beneath his fingers, enjoying the artificial warmth from the rattling engine. Closing his eyes, he felt the engine go silent and dead beneath his palm, the heat ebbing away and dissipating into the fog of New York's December. He turned wearily back to the large alleyway that lay before him. The wind picked up once more, causing the lapel of his open jacket to flap against his chest, clattering against the steel buttons. He spoke into the abyss beyond.

"You know, it'll be easier for everyone if you just come out." He said slowly to the alleyway.

There was no reply.

He sighed, turning away as his hand reached crossed his chest to his breast pocket and removed a packet of Pall Mall slims from its recesses. He patted himself for his light, and picked a cigarette stick between his lips from the pack. He sparked the flame from the small yellow Bic in his hand, and cupped his hand around the flames. He took a deep drag of the nicotine. His chest heaved forth, and as he plucked the cigarette with his index and middle finger, he exhaled into a gray puff of smoke that dissipated into the wind. He let his left arm fall weakly over his side, and he placed the cigarette between his lips once more, peering into the alleyway wearily. Off-hand, he knew that something wicked stirred within the bowels of that darkness. He had a good idea about what lay there, but no intense passion to search it out. It had been many years since he'd left New York. The years had changed the timid college boy into a rough and tumble soldier. He had been privy to the worst of men. The greatest glories. The most abominable tragedies. And yet, one undeniable fact was always prevalent. Wherever he turned, there the darkness lay.

His hand slid down over the a brown satchel that rested over the engine block as he shifted his weigh to his right foot as his left leg flicked the kickstand down, steadying the vehicle upon the ground. Dim forest hues turned their attention to what lay before him. He pitched the bridge of nose exhausted. _You haven't slept in three days, _he whispered to himself. He spoke up wearily. "Listen. I don't got all night. I'm tired and tonight Dane Cook is on Conan." He reached into the satchel blindly. In the ambiance, something stirred. He through down the cigarette. "So, I'll give you to the count of five, 'kay buddy?". As he spoke he could feel the beast crouch. A thin throat growl rose slowly and spun into the cold, winter air. The shadows pressed upon the walls, moving in closer.

"1," he began.

He watched the space between the two tenements began to pump forth, like the heartbeat of some great beast. Dan heard the sharpening of its claws behind the rock. Dan's blood began to pump in his veins. His heartbeat increasing steadily.

"2."

It exhaled deeply. Dan could almost feel the hot, sticky breath from were he sat a few feet away.

"3."

It's crimson hues beaming within the darkness.

"4."

Dan could feel the creature compress, slinking closer into the ground as the creature readied to pounce. His eyes never left the two solid orbs in the fog of midnight.

"5."

On that the creature pounced forth, its features twisting into a solid blur from the darkness. Its claws twisted out to grasp at his throat. As it did, Dan gripped the stock of the shotgun, wiping it out of the satchel. Turning his shoulder, he slapped the pump against his hands and pushed forth as he fingered the trigger. He waited it had reached the zenith of it's climb, and without hesitation he fired a burst of bright amber that ripped through the night with a resounding _Blam! _He watched as the blast ripped through the creature's sternum, swatting it down from its flight with a thick _thud _landing hard on it's back. Dan smirked, pleased with himself as the creature rolled back a few feet away. Dan threw his legs over his bike, resting against the frame as he gripped the barrel lightly. He gave another impassionate pump before he sat forth towards the still sizzling body.

It used to be a Smith & Wesson single shot pump action at one point and time, but since then the design of the weapon had changed. It never used shells, nor did it need to be clean though Dan did polish the barrel once in a while out of boredom. The only thing it demanded was an offering of the blood of a calf in garlic cloves during the nights of the red moon. Though it was a hassle, Dan would rather have a happy gun that smelled just slight of garlic then no gun at all. Heavy boots steps dropped heavily upon the concrete as he approached the smoking figure. There was no blood drawn from the assault. It wasn't that kind of shotgun, so the ground had stayed relatively dry, save for the still drying urine upon the floor. Dan strolled confidently, his hues watching the motionless body for any signs of life. When he was assured that it was good and gone, Dan began to nudge it with his toe. The form rocked softly, but other then that it didn't move.

"Okay. He's dead," he muttered to itself as he turned around. The wind howled, rising from the concrete into the endless winter sky. Above him the moonlight beamed down it's erratic white rays down into the winter fog. Dan inhaled deep, resting his form against the seat of his motorcycle. A thin wisp of vapor leaving he lips as he sighed. "That was easy," he thought aloud. His eyes narrowed, slowly he turned his head. His heart pumped in his chest, threatening to burst out of frame as he glared at the area where the body once laid. He approached the empty ground where the creature had landed. A knot formed in his throat as he moved. His eyes came to the area of soot where it's head had been. He pressed two fingers against the floor and then brought them up to view, darkened with a new coat of ash. He sniffed it, then licked it gingerly. "Crap" he whispered to himself as he felt a hot, sticky breath upon the nape of his neck.

There was a moment of hesitation. Dan swung around swiftly, the barrel came up underneath its chin. It would have been a perfect shot. Unfortunately, Dan's finger was off the trigger. In the dim moonlight, Dan was able to perceive the features of it's attacker. It was humanistic. Its face would be immensely handsome and striking if it were not so contorted with rage. It's eyes were a burning red that filled the entire eye. Its jaw detached like a snake to allow for the three inch long fangs that filled its mouth. The enamel glistened in the pale moonlight as it roared into Dan's face. It's breath smelled of dried blood. It swung its arm, swatting away the shotgun that he'd held loosely in his hands before its claws would grasp his throat. Its sharp fingernails bit into his skin as it pulled him closer. " Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetch " it hissed inches away from his face. Dan felt its hand tightened around his neck as it lifted him from the ground. Feet dangling, Dan flinched as the creature fixated its grip once more. His heart pounded in his ear. His vision tunneled, darkening around the edges as the grim visage before him snarled fiercely.

"I killed you before, Daniel. It'll be my pleasure to it again," Blackout whispered. Dan's eyes fluttered to a close. Blackout's red eyes beaming in curiosity, his head canted to the side like a small child. Slowly, it smiled and swung its arm back. "Good bye, Daniel." It whispered, almost disappointed and struck. There was a moment of silence as the breezed whispered, whipping a scrap of paper into the air where it tumbled. Dan's hand snatched his violently out of the air, holding it firmly within his grip. "Argh," he yelped. He brought his eyes once more up to the seemingly unconscious man. Dan's eyes snapped upon once more. The deep forest hues under pits of solid black, with two deep read pupils staring back at him from the void. Now it was Blackout's time to shiver as Dan's hand slowly closed down upon his. He felt his fingers bend and heard them pop as they snapped out of his hand. The pain shoot down his arm, Blackout screamed and dropped the figure that landed on the ground with the thin clicking of boots. Kneeling under the grasp, his eyes narrowed. He attempted to twist out of the hold, but it was simply too strong. His arm burned as he looked up at Dan once more.

"What's wrong, Blackout. Look like you've seen a ghost" replied Dan, his voice deep and hollow. Dan's palm grasped his cheek, sliding slowly down to his chin. He would smile and in one swift motion, swung his arm back and forth violently. Blackout's face erupted with blood as the force of the impact broke his skin, destroying his precious face as it smashed into the hard bone-crushing blow. The thin pop of his jaw fell on deaf ears, his vision hazed as his face met the ground below. His breath was soft and shallow as he wallowed in the fast coalescing pool of his own blood. Through the patchy fog of his own clouded mind, he felt the fiery pain rip through his body, and heard the distant clatter of boots beside him. His vision blurred and suddenly, everything went dark. He woke months later. Days later. Hours later. Time seem to slip loose of it's meager confines now, as he half opened his eyes. It was in actuality only a few moments when he would come into consciousness again, though he could feel the darkness coming to swirl around him. Distantly he heard the voice of his nemesis. It sounded as if he was speaking into a foghorn.

" A-..d behold, a pale hor-...e...-nd th...-hat sat upon...death. "

His vision tunneled once more. He stared into the abyss and it stared back into him. He felt the hand of God within him for the first time. He hated the warmth that surged within his stomach, and hated the world from keeping him away from the warmth. He hated God for his distance, and all at once praised his name. He listened as the abyss spoke to him, through the surge of blood and passion within his chest. From a distance, he heard Dan's voice within it.

"En nombre de padre, de hijo, y de spiriti sancti. "

_Click. _

_" _Amen. "

_Blam!_


End file.
